


You do not have to walk on your knees

by dollsome



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina and redemption, take two. It goes better this time. (Featuring Emma drowning her sorrows in Adele, Regina exploding bowls of ice cream, Henry pretending he doesn't know what a parent trap is, lots of regret and quiet yearning, and Captain Hook showing up just long enough to be the worst. Also, magic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a hundred miles through the desert, repenting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly cracky but also entirely too heartfelt vision of how I would like the Swan Queen-y rest of the season to go, and as soon as possible. I just have so many Henry Has Two Mommies feelings that a thousand, thousand listens to Adele’s “Someone Like You” could not provide me with emotional catharsis.
> 
> I’m often really curious about how an “Emma and Regina learn to get along!” storyline would actually go on the show itself, so this is more a relationship study than a straight up romance. As a result, it’s entirely lacking in the sexytimes, but I hope that the general feels and introspection make up for it. :)
> 
> This is the first of three parts, and if you have ever experienced one of my chapter fics before, you will be relieved to know that the rest of it is written already, so I promise it won't get abandoned this time. It's just that this got much longer than I expected it to. Brevity and Swan Queen just don't mix in my world!

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

 

(Wild Geese by Mary Oliver)

 

\--

 

 

By the time that Emma finds out that Archie’s not dead – therefore establishing that Regina didn’t, you know, viciously murder him – it’s too late. Regina has already gone full on Evil Queen. Which is to say, she’s joined up with her mom and Captain Skeeze and started wearing a _lot_ more eyeliner. She keeps showing up in random bursts of purple smoke and announcing the impending doom of everyone in Storybrooke. She vanishes before anything doomy actually happens, but considering the amount of eyeliner she’s rocking, Emma suspects it’s only a matter of time.

 

It’s a lot for a new mom to take.

 

So it’s possible that Mary Margaret walks into the apartment one afternoon to find Emma lying on her bed staring blankly up at the ceiling. Listening to Adele.

 

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, concerned, and perches on the side of the bed.

 

“What did people do when they were sad in fairytale land?” Emma asks dully. “No Adele. I mean, that must have been rough, right? How did you guys even process emotion?”

 

Mary Margaret pauses thoughtfully, her hand soft on Emma’s shoulder. “Sometimes, I would talk to a bird about it,” she says at last.

 

 _Hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,_ contributes Adele.

 

“Still weird,” Emma decides.

 

“They’re very good listeners.”

 

“I’m pretty sure they’re just being birds.”

 

Mary Margaret looks kind of offended. In a subtle, princesslike way, but still. It’s definitely there.

 

“Let’s agree to disagree,” she says delicately.

 

“Good enough for me,” Emma mumbles.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret attempts again, “what’s wrong?”

 

“I did this,” Emma tells the ceiling. “It’s my fault Regina went dark again. I knew in my gut that she didn’t kill Archie. When I looked into her eyes, I _knew_ she wasn’t lying. But I still let myself turn against her the first chance I had. It was selfish and stupid, and now she’s gone, and it’s my fault. And of course there was a part of me that wanted Henry all to myself, but – but so what? That was putting my interests before his. Storybrooke’s been invaded by sadistic fairytale lunatics, and you know who I really want on my kid’s side now? A badass evil witch queen. And I don’t know how to do any of this. When I made him lunch the other morning, it was a Coke, a bag of Fritos I found in the back of the cupboard, and a low-fat yogurt. I could practically _feel_ Regina strangling me. And, like, laundry. Laundry! Should I have to wash his underwear? I mean, he’s eleven. It seems invasive. Is there a parenting book about that? I need a parenting book. I might need all the parenting books.”

 

“I’m probably not the person to ask about that,” Mary Margaret says, which makes Emma feel a whole new level of crappy. They still haven’t gotten very good at talking about the whole ‘you missed out on the first twenty-eight years of my life’ thing.

 

Emma decides to stick to the problem at hand. “It’s my fault Henry lost his mom.”

 

“You’re Henry’s mom, too,” Mary Margaret reminds her gently.

 

Emma hugs a pillow to her chest, trying to be gruff about it. “That doesn’t make up for him losing his first one.”

 

 _Never mind, I will find – someone like youuuuu,_ Adele contributes.

 

Finding someone else like Regina seems like kind of a tall order. That’s probably a good thing. The world can barely handle the one it’s already got.

 

(Plus, Emma likes the one the world has already got. In a nemesis way.)

 

 

+

 

 

As it turns out, there is something more insufferable than Emma Swan, and it’s having one’s mother invade one’s house. Outside, a protective shield crackles around the mansion grounds, glowing bright blue and malevolent. Anyone who dares cross it will be slowly and painfully reduced to smithereens.

 

Regina, trapped inside, can entirely sympathize.

 

“At first I was unimpressed by this world,” Cora says, “but I’ll admit it has its uses.”

 

“It’s ice cream, Mother,” Regina says flatly. “You’ll get used to it.”

 

Cora primly finishes the rest of her bowl of mint chip, then dishes out a few more scoops. She muses, “How long do you think it would take, to become queen of such a demesne?”

 

Regina scoffs. “Believe me, it’s not worth the effort.”

“Really?” Regina knows not to trust the gleam of seemingly pleasant interest that comes into her mother’s eyes. “You seem to like it here.”

 

“Here a woman can make a life for herself without having to destroy everyone in her path to do it,” Regina answers. She sounds perfectly poised, but something tugs at her heart. A foolish yearning. “Have I mentioned that I reigned as mayor for twenty eight years _while_ raising a child on my own?”

 

“Do mayors reign?”

“Essentially,” Regina sniffs.

 

“You made yourself mayor, dear. It’s not like the squalling masses had a choice in the matter.”

 

“The squalling masses had nothing to complain about.” Regina chooses not to mention the whole curse part. “I always had Storybrooke’s best interests at heart.”

 

“Yes, but it’s not as if it mattered, did it? And we really must see about getting that boy a father.”

 

“Henry has more than enough parents already, thank you very much.”

 

“Really, Regina. You could at least attempt _some_ guise of propriety.”

 

“Things are different here, Mother. A woman doesn’t need a man to be proper. Henry has me, and Emma Swan, not to mention those insufferable grandparents of his. I doubt he’d want to welcome a father into the fold. Besides, I don’t really have time to date, and sorry to inform you, but arranged marriages aren’t exactly in fashion any longer.”

 

“A lady doesn’t _date_ , Regina. Whatever on earth that is. A lady is courted.”

 

“Well, I’m not courting,” Regina snaps. The word sounds ridiculous. Perhaps she’s grown more attached to this world than she realized.

 

“Don’t get angry, dear,” Cora orders. “Not when we have so much catching up to do.”

 

“Of course not, Mother,” Regina says, her voice dropping demurely without her own permission. As soon as she’s said it, she wants to take the words back. She hasn’t sacrificed everything ( _lost_ everything) just to become the scared girl she was so long ago.

 

“Why do you keep mentioning her?” Cora asks after a moment. “Emma?”

 

“She stole my son from me,” Regina snarls. “Forgive me if she’s on my mind.”

 

“She’s very uncouth,” Cora says, wrinkling her nose. “What is it with you and obsessing over your lessers? First that insipid stable boy, and now—”

 

Regina explodes the bowl of ice cream with her eyes.

 

“I chide because I care, Regina,” her mother says calmly. No one should be able to look that superior with ice cream dripping down her cheek.

 

“Besides, Cora, you can’t blame her for a spot of obsession,” comes the leering voice of that insufferable vagabond Hook. He swaggers into the room. Regina shudders to think what filth he’s besmirched her house with. He hasn’t even taken his boots off. Of course. “Emma Swan knows how to leave a person in thrall.”

 

“Do silence yourself, Romeo,” Regina orders regally, and imagines setting his head on fire.

 

 

+

 

 

The look on Henry’s face when she tells him about Archie simultaneously renews Emma’s faith in the world and completely terrifies her. Sometimes she feels like she’ll never get used to loving someone this much.

 

“You know what that means, don’t you?” he cries. “We can get my mom back!”

 

“Oh, Henry, it’s not that easy,” Emma sighs. “You know how she’s been acting, since—”

 

“But that’s not what she wants,” Henry protests excitedly. “That’s just because she’s hurt. If she was really evil, she couldn’t hurt. Don’t you get it? She loves us. I bet that if we say we’re really sorry, and let her know we mean it, she’ll come back to our side. She’ll help us stop Cora and Hook, and maybe she’ll even teach you how to control your magic—”

 

“Whoa. Slow down there. And besides, she loves _you_ , kid. Not us. Definitely not any ‘us’ that I happen to be a part of.”

 

“Oh,” Henry says. “Yeah. Me. That’s what I thought I said.”

 

It’s slightly _too_ casual. Emma is struck by a sudden, stupid, _insane_ suspicion.

 

“Henry,” Emma says slowly, “you’re not having ... Parent Trap thoughts, are you?”

 

“What’s a parent trap?” Henry asks earnestly.

 

Oh, thank God Regina apparently never let him watch television.

 

“Never mind,” Emma says. “Let’s go find your mom.”

 

 

+

 

“A lady doesn’t walk,” Cora informs her when Regina says she’s going out for a walk around the yard. “She strolls. Beneath a parasol, if at all possible. Do you even _own_ a parasol? And besides, it’s already getting dark.”

 

“Don’t wait up, Mother,” Regina replies, trying to keep the venom out of her voice. She doesn’t try very hard.

 

“A mother always waits up, Regina,” Cora’s voice trails after her.

 

The last time Regina spotted Emma Swan from her window, she had a chainsaw in tow. This time, she has Henry. It fills Regina with the kind of rage that makes the chainsaw debacle look positively quaint in comparison.

 

 

+

 

 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Regina demands when she reaches them. They stand on the other side of the magical barrier, their faces slightly distorted by the quivering waves of blue. They’re only feet away, but the distance might as well be miles. “Bringing him here. Do you know what these people would do to him without a second thought?”

 

“I know,” Emma says, “but he insisted—”

 

“What do you want, Henry?” Regina asks. The words come out sounding tired.

 

“Mom,” Henry says, the urgency in his voice like an arrow to her heart. “We’re sorry. Archie’s back, and he told us about Hook and Cora, and we know now that you were telling the truth, and we’re so, so sorry that we didn’t believe you.”

 

She tries to stare frostily down at him. Henry stares up at her, undaunted, his expression full of hope. Her whole heart breaks and mends all at once.

 

Bursting into tears is an unfortunate side effect of the feeling.

 

“Oh shit,” Emma says. Eloquent as ever.

 

“ _Really_ , Miss Swan?” Regina manages crossly through her tears. “With Henry right there?”

 

“I mean, uh, shoot,” Emma fumbles. “Henry, just – pretend you didn’t hear that.”

 

“Hear what?” Henry says obediently.

 

“Good. Um, Regina – why are you ... uh, don’t cry. We know you’ve been through a really hard time lately, what with being framed for murder – and it’s probably a good thing you’re figuring out now that that’s not a nice thing to have happen to you, because when you did it to Mary Margaret it seriously wasn’t cool – but, um, I guess we can talk about that stuff later, because everyone’s been under a lot of pressure lately, and I bet that includes you, because your mom is a raging psychotic super bitch, but – um, oh, crap. I meant your mom is ... not a nice person?—”

 

“I’ll allow that one,” Regina sniffles.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Emma says. She actually smiles a little, which has the effect of making her attack of word vomit slightly more palatable. “Anyway. The point is, we’re sorry. Please. Come with us.”

 

She lifts a hand – which is ridiculous; what does she mean to do, take Regina’s? – and her fingers hover perilously close to the barrier.

 

“I can’t,” Regina snaps, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. “In case you’ve failed to notice, this is a barrier.”

 

“You mean you can’t just ...” Emma waves her hands in a very insulting impression of what Regina guesses is a spell. “ _Poof!_ , and then you’re through?”

 

“Only if I want to die an agonizing death. And though it’s tempting, I’m not quite there yet, thank you.”

 

Emma frowns. “So she trapped you, too?”

 

“Trapping me has always been a special hobby of hers,” Regina says bitterly.

 

Saying it in front of Henry, she finds herself reminded, painfully, of turning the trees against him. Locking him in his room like the villain she is.

 

She deserves to stay here forever, listening to Captain Hook ramble drunken sonnets to Emma’s breasts while her mother consumes all the ice cream in Storybrooke.

 

God.

 

“We’ll get you out,” Henry insists; it makes her want to start crying all over again. Then he takes the slightest step forward.

“Henry, don’t you dare!” Regina orders, her heart lurching. “Emma, keep him back.”

 

Even as the words are coming out of her mouth, Emma already has her arms tight around Henry.

 

“I’ve got him,” she says. “Not a step, kid.”

 

“We have to get her out,” Henry protests, struggling.

 

“We _will_ ,” Emma says firmly. “We just have to do it right. Regina, what will happen if we go through?”

 

Regina goes to the nearest apple tree, picks one, aims it directly at Emma’s face (might as well get some catharsis from the experience), and throws.

 

“ _Ser_ iousl—” Emma begins to say.

 

She falls quickly silent when the apple hits the barrier, is momentarily outlined in a crackling current of blue, and then explodes. A modest pile of dust spills over onto Henry and Emma’s side of the yard.

 

“Oh,” Henry says in a small voice.

 

“Right,” Emma says.

 

“Exactly,” says Regina.

 

Emma is quiet, an expression of truly foreboding thoughtfulness on her face. At last, she says, “I bet I can come through.”

 

“What?” Regina and Henry demand in unison.

 

“Cora couldn’t take my heart. Maybe her magic doesn’t work on me.”

 

“Or maybe you’ll dissolve into a pile of dust,” Regina counters.

 

“I’ll start small, then.” Emma lifts a hand toward the barrier.

 

“Emma, don’t be ridiculous,” Regina orders. Fortunately, the panic she feels manifests itself as disdain in her voice. “The last thing our son needs is the severe trauma of watching you lose a hand—”

 

The _our son_ feels so natural that Regina doesn’t realize it until it’s been said. Emma’s eyes flick from the barrier to meet Regina’s. Regina can’t begin to decipher the expression on her face, but it doesn’t look much like loathing.

 

The moment is about as excruciating as she suspects stepping through the barrier would be.

 

“Or do it, if you insist,” Regina forces herself to continue. “Be my guest. Maybe you and your pirate paramour can get matching hooks.”

 

“Ugh,” Emma grimaces. “Has Hook been talking about me?”

 

“And very little else.”

 

“Gross. I cannot _stand_ that guy.”

 

“Really?” Regina asks lightly. “I thought he seemed like your type.”

“Yeah, maybe if my type was _the worst_ ,” Emma scowls.

 

“Like attracts like,” Regina says innocently.

 

“You guys!” Henry interrupts. “Knock it off! You can argue once we get Mom out!”

 

Regina feels a little flash of pride, amidst the slight embarrassment.

 

“Right,” Emma says. “The point is, Cora’s magic didn’t work on me once. Might as well try again.”

 

“Be careful,” Regina says, uselessly.

 

Emma lifts her hand to the barrier, trembling visibly, and pushes the very tip of her pointer finger against the blue. Immediately, her finger is surrounded by soft gold light.

 

“Whoa!” Henry says.

 

“Score,” Emma says.

 

“Well,” Regina says, “fine then.”

 

Emma takes a deep breath, then steps through the barrier.

 

For a split-second, she’s limned in gold – the most radiant thing Regina has ever set eyes on, never mind her jeans and messy hair and damned red jacket. She looks so simply, purely good that for a split-second, even Regina can believe in Storybrooke’s savior.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Emma says then, shattering the illusion, standing beside her. She’s slightly out of breath.

 

“Indeed,” Regina answers, trying to sound poised.

 

“Come on, then. I think that as long as you’re touching me, you’ll make it across fine.”

 

“Are you sure this isn’t just some elaborate ploy to disintegrate me?” Regina arches an eyebrow.

 

Emma chuckles. “That’s not really my style.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I’m more of a punch-you-in-the-face kinda girl.”

 

“I remember,” Regina answers dryly.

 

“You punched her in the face?” Henry asks, frowning.

 

“To be fair,” Emma says, “I think it was more of a mutual punching situation.”

 

“ _You_ punched _her_ in the face??” Henry exclaims to Regina.

 

“Never mind all that,” Regina says briskly.

 

“Weird,” Henry decides.

 

“Um,” Emma says to Regina. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

Emma awkwardly holds her hand out. Regina stares at it for a moment, feeling absurdly flustered, then clasps Emma’s fingers with her own. There’s a slight jolt that comes with touching her, but a pleasant one, like the golden magic that granted her safe passage across is still dancing in her fingertips.

 

“Milady?” Emma says faux-gallantly.

 

“Don’t be cute,” Regina orders.

 

“You’re fun as ever,” Emma grumbles.

 

Then they step through.

 

As promised, Regina doesn’t turn to dust.

 

It’s (though she will never tell Emma this) amazing. She feels the magic writhing around her – that familiar darkness striving toward her body, her heart. But this time, it stays at a distance. She stays calm, Emma’s magic as gentle and sure as sunlight, their linked hands an anchor. For once, magic feels nothing like being hollowed out.

 

But Regina doesn’t have much time to reflect upon that. As soon as they’re out the other side, Henry throws his arms around her.

 

“Mom,” he says, his voice muffled.

 

“Henry.” Regina blinks back tears again, one hand coming to rest on his hair.

 

Henry pulls away so he can grin up at her. “You’re one of the good guys now.”

 

“Yes,” Regina says after a moment, and finally lets herself smile. “I suppose I am.”

 

Henry clings to her again. She meets Emma’s eyes, her fingers still tingling with slight pleasant warmth, and can’t find it in her heart to hate her.

 


	2. meanwhile the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina and redemption, take two. It goes better this time. (Featuring Charming family bicker fests, Emma failing at gallantry but winning at snark, complicated deception, pretty leaves, and Regina contemplating kissing. Strictly figurative kissing, that is.)

  
“Emma,” Snow White says, “what have we told you about bringing evil queens home?”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Emma smirks. “It’s just this once.”  
  
Charming isn’t quite so poised. “How do you know we can trust—”  
  
“Because we can,” Emma interrupts firmly. “And that’s the last time we’re having this conversation.”  
  
Regina can’t resist flashing a smile his way.  
  
“I’m never going to like you,” Charming informs Regina with a sneer that looks fairly laughable on his heroic face.  
  
“Heartbreaking,” Regina drawls.  
  
“Stop it,” Henry orders. “We’re all on the same side now. We can’t waste all our time arguing. We have to figure out how to defeat Cora and Hook.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any tips for us?” Charming demands, glaring at Regina.  
  
“My mother seems increasingly infatuated with the idea of world domination,” Regina replies. “So that ought to go well. Hook doesn’t talk about much besides vengeance and your lovely daughter.”  
  
Emma shudders.  
  
“Regina,” Snow says, her eyes wide and sweet and noble as ever. Regina feels her old hatred kindling. “I know you and I will never be able to mend our past. But now there are things more important than the past at stake.”  
  
Henry looks to her, hopeful.  
  
“I agree,” Regina forces herself to say. Henry smiles, just slightly, and immediately the words feel worth the loss of pride.  
  
“Good,” Snow says briskly. “Now, what do you suggest we do?”  
  
“I doubt my mother will tolerate my absence for long,” Regina says. “And there’s no way I’ll be able to conceal that I’ve been spending time with you. She’s always had a knack for discovering my secrets. So I thought I might tell her that you came to me and I managed to trick you into believing that I’d had a change of heart. And now I’ll have access to all your plans.”  
  
“So, the truth,” Charming scowls.  
  
Snow elbows him in the side.  
  
“So you’d be like a double agent?” Henry says. “That’s  _awesome._ ”  
  
“You think she’ll fall for it?” Charming says skeptically.  
  
“I think she has very little faith in goodness,” Regina answers. “Or love. And she knows very well that my hatred of you all runs deep. She won’t doubt my loyalty to her.”  
  
“Question,” Emma says. “Are you planning to bring up how much you hate us in  _every_  conversation, or ... ?”  
  
“Depends,” Regina answers sweetly. “How often do you plan on reminding me?”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Henry tells his grandparents. “I think they mostly argue because they like it.”  
  
“Do not!” Emma protests.  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Regina snaps at the same time.  
  
Snow, Charming, and Henry stare at them.  
  
“I fail to see how this relates to planning to save Storybrooke,” Regina says tersely.  
  
“Yeah, you guys,” Emma says, disgruntled. “Come on.”  
  
  
+  
  
  
When Regina returns home, it’s with Emma escorting her through the barrier like a gentleman helping a lady from her carriage.  
  
Well. Almost.  
  
“Right,” Emma says, and holds out her hand. “I guess ... let’s ... right?”  
  
She wiggles her fingers.  
  
Regina sighs the sigh of the deeply long-suffering, and condescends to place her hand in Emma’s. She ignores the faint, lovely current of whatever-it-is that ignites when their fingers touch. An unfortunate side effect of the magic, that’s all.  
  
“Peasant,” Regina murmurs under her breath, to bring some equilibrium to the situation.  
  
“Hey. Princess, thank you very much.”  
  
“A princess isn’t born,” Regina declares, and immediately feels too much like her mother for comfort. “She’s made.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Emma huffs, “sorry for not being  _princessy_  enough for you, Queen Snobs-a-lot. I’ll make sure to curtsey next time.”  
  
Regina decides to not even touch upon her new nickname. “I shudder to imagine how that might look.”  
  
Emma rolls her eyes, then more or less yanks Regina through the barrier. And just like that, here she is – back in her prison. Emma lets go of her hand at once. It’s oddly disorienting.  
  
To distract herself from her inconvenient breathlessness (damn magic), Regina remarks, “It’s good to know you’re an exemplary manhandler no matter the situation. Rescuing someone from a fire, guiding them through a magical barrier—”  
  
Emma shrugs. “Back in the day, it came with the job description. Besides, you didn’t die in a fire or dissolve into magical dust, did you?”  
  
“No,” Regina admits grumpily.  
  
“See?” Emma grins.  
  
“You’re insufferable.”  
  
“Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not exactly enchanting either.”  
  
They stare at one another crossly for a moment. Regina tries not to pay much mind to the way standing in front of the barrier seems to make Emma’s hair glow even more golden.  
  
“Well,” Regina says at last. “Goodnight.”  
  
“Yep,” Emma agrees, and shoves her hands into her pockets. It’s so unmistakably awkward that it stirs some strange twinge of feeling in Regina – something she’s only used to feeling toward Henry. It’s not unlike fondness. “See you around, Regina.”  
  
“Yes,” Regina murmurs as Emma steps back through the barrier. “You will.”  
  
  
+  
  
  
Regina goes inside and tells her mother everything.  
  
Well. Almost.  
  
“They can’t really be foolish enough to trust you,” Cora says, narrowing her eyes.  
  
“Believe me, Mother,” Regina says, “you underestimate their foolishness.”  
  
  
+  
  
  
A few days later they go out into the forest together, because Emma wants to learn more about her magic, and she seems to have decided Regina’s the one to teach her.  
  
“It’s either you or Gold,” Emma explained, “and I’m getting really, really sick of Gold.”  
  
“But not of me?” Regina challenged. That earned her a long, exasperated stare.  
  
“Shut up,” Emma said at last. “Let’s go.”  
  
And so here they are.  
  
They stand in silence for a long moment, staring at the forest around them.  
  
“So,” Emma says, energetic. “Where do we start?”  
  
Regina considers. Then: “Knock down that tree.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“So we can see if you can knock down the tree.”  
  
“But then the tree’s knocked down. That seems like a waste of a perfectly good tree to me.”  
  
“Then for the second part of our little experiment, we’ll see if you can mend the tree,” Regina says impatiently.  
  
“Is fixing things as easy as destroying them?” Emma asks. It’s a genuine question, not a dig.  
  
“No,” Regina says after a moment.  
  
Emma stares at her, then seems to decide staring isn’t the best idea. She moves her eyes quickly to the tree in question.  
  
“Fine,” Regina says briskly. “Make the leaves dance, then, if you’re such a virtuous princess. It must be hereditary. Perhaps next you can have a chat with a bird.”  
  
“Yeah, I am never doing that,” Emma says with a short laugh. “And ... how, exactly, am I supposed to make anything happen? Don’t I need, you know, spells? Magic books? A cauldron or something? A broomstick?” Her eyes light up devilishly. “Hey. Did you ever ride a broomstick?”  
  
Regina ignores her. “For more advanced magic, yes, those things are necessary.” Emma opens her mouth to say something obnoxious. Before she can get it out, Regina interrupts, “Broomstick not included.” Emma’s face falls. Regina smiles. “But this is simple. All you have to do is visualize what you want to have happen, and let your power guide you.”  
  
“Um,” Emma says. “Okay. Right. That sounds simple enough.”  
  
“It is,” Regina replies, a tad smugly.  
  
“Okay. Um. Okay.” Emma stares down at the leaves blanketing the forest floor. Regina watches Emma.  
  
“Do I, like, talk to them?” Emma asks after a moment. “Maybe in a rhyme?”  
  
“No,” Regina says flatly.  
  
“Okay then,” Emma mutters. “Um ...”  
  
“Don’t be so tense.”  
  
“Sorry. It’s kind of a lot of pressure!”  
  
“It’s leaves, Miss Swan. Don’t over-stress the gravity of the situation. You’re going to pop a blood vessel.”  
  
“I am not.”  
  
“You look deranged. Loosen up.”  
  
“Says the most uptight person I’ve ever met in my whole life—”  
  
“Don’t exaggerate.”  
  
“Believe me, I’m not.”  
  
Regina places an impatient hand on her shoulder. “If you’re always this tense, then you’ll never be able to—”  
  
All at once, the leaves swirl up from the forest floor in a flurry of gold, brushing against one another like eager whispers, and then hang suspended in the air above their heads.  
  
“Whoa,” Emma says.  
  
For once, Regina has to agree with her.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“How do you feel?” Regina asks after an hour’s practice. At first, Regina had to touch Emma’s arm each time in order to get the magic flowing – tentatively, of course, with the air of someone picking up a tarantula (actually, Regina likes tarantulas much better) – but after awhile, Emma came into her own. Watching her levitate leaves with such a silly look of fear and wonder on her face ought to have made Regina furious. Here the precious savior was, stealing magic from her just like she’d stolen everything else. But somehow, the feeling doesn’t accompany the expectation of it. She’s just so relieved to be out in the open air, instead of trapped in that house; that must be what keeps her temper even.  
  
“I feel good,” Emma says. Regina can practically feel the energy coming off of her. “Just – you know, like the first sip of coffee in the morning, or a runner’s high, or a really great o—”  
  
Regina lifts an eyebrow.  
  
“—range Julius,” Emma finishes awkwardly.  
  
“Nice save,” Regina deadpans.  
  
Emma mock curtsies (she’s not half bad at it), then sinks down onto a log.  
  
“You don’t feel it taking you?” Regina asks, trying to sound offhanded. She remains standing.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Like you’re being hollowed out,” Regina says. She keeps her eyes carefully trained on the forest floor. “And replaced with something else.”  
  
“No,” Emma says. “I feel like me. But – more, you know?”  
  
Predictably, Regina feels a sharp stab of envy. This time, though, Emma’s bloody violent death doesn’t seem like the only solution. So at least she’s improving.  
  
“I’ve never felt that way,” Regina confesses. “When I first used magic, I vowed never to do it again. I didn’t like the way it seemed to steal me from myself. But dear Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said I showed such promise.”  
  
“Why does that not surprise me?” Emma scowls.  
  
“People don’t change much,” Regina answers.  
  
“Sure they do,” Emma says. Regina finds it stupidly touching, and tries not to let that show on her face. Emma isn’t nearly as good at masking her emotions. Regina can read plainly that the woman is fighting with herself. At last, Emma ventures, “What did you want to do with your life? Before – magic, and all that?”  
  
Regina can’t remember the last time someone asked her a personal question. People are usually so busy being disgusted by and/or terrified of her that they don’t show much interest in the nuances of her soul.  
  
She decides to answer honestly. Might as well keep Miss Swan on her toes. First, she takes a seat on the log beside her, eliciting an ‘okay, what the hell?’ look from Emma. It’s strangely satisfying.  
  
“Marry a stable boy and live on a farm,” Regina tells her. “Ride horses every day, and not give a damn if there was mud on my skirts.”  
  
Emma snorts. “You on a farm?”  
  
“Is that hard to picture?”  
  
“Incredibly.” Emma goes quiet for a moment, then says, almost shyly, “You know, when I was a kid, I always wanted to live on a farm too.”  
  
“You did?”  
  
“Yeah. With a red barn, and cows, and lots of green grass, and fresh vegetables every day. But ducks instead of chickens. Chickens freak me out. But I like ducks.”  
  
“Duck eggs are delicious,” Regina says, without really knowing why. This is a very foolish conversation. “And I always preferred the meat to chicken.”  
  
Emma shudders. “You fairytale people are weird. You’re probably a big fan of chimera too, huh?”  
  
“Hardly, Miss Swan. I do have tastebuds.”  
  
“Well, there’s one thing we agree on.”  
  
“It appears so.”  
  
Emma meets her eyes. “It’s been a long time coming.”  
  
Feeling absurdly brave, Regina responds, “Let’s see if we can keep it up, then, shall we?”  
  
“Sure,” Emma says. Regina tries not to let any relief show on her face. It’s bad enough that she feels it at all. “I’d like that.”  
  
“Me too,” Regina admits.  
  
They stare at one another in silence for a moment. A long moment. Around them, the air twitches and breathes with small forest sounds. It’s strange to be in the forest here, with her. It’s disorientingly like being back home. She and Daniel used to steal away to the forest together, on the rare sweet occasions when they could find the chance. They’d kiss and talk for hours.  
  
She wonders if Emma ought to be so close.  
  
“Hey,” Emma says abruptly. “What do you usually put in Henry’s lunch?”  
  
Regina’s so thankful for the change in subject – if staring uselessly at one another can be considered a subject – that she thinks she could kiss her.  
  
Figuratively, of course.  
  
Very, very figuratively. And only in the loosest sense.  
  
And even then, there would be absolutely no tongue.  
  
Primly, she recites, “A turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread – crusts cut off, naturally – with spinach, arugula, tomato, and black olives. Carrot sticks and pita chips on the side, and apple juice.”  
  
Emma groans. “You cut the crusts off? Seriously? Oh, come on.”  
  
“It’s not rocket science, Miss Swan.”  
  
“Also: am I allowed to be not okay with you giving our kid apple juice? Or, like, anything involving apples? Ever?”  
  
“Because naturally I go out of my way to poison my son’s juice boxes every day.”  
  
“And what’s arugula?”  
  
Well, now, that’s just too much. “You’re joking.”  
  
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Emma demands.  
  
The worst part is, she doesn’t.  
  
“Oh, lord,” Regina murmurs. Then, louder: “Why? What did you give him for lunch?”  
  
Emma suddenly looks remarkably like a deer in the headlights.  
  
“We’ve been talking a lot,” she says with a light, nervous laugh. “We should probably get back to magic practice, huh? So much to learn! So much evil to defeat! It would be irresponsible to indulge in conversation, really—”  
  
“Miss Sw _an_ —”  
  
“Less talking, more magic! Come on, Queen Regina. Let’s do this.”  
  
“If it involved Cheetos, so help me God, I’ll turn you into a toad.”  
  
“You can actually do that?”  
  
“I can do anything,” Regina says. It’s true. More or less.  
  
“Yeah,” Emma grumbles, “including cut the crusts off.”  
  
“How hard, exactly, do you think cutting crust off is?”  
  
“That’s not the point! The point is that it’s ridiculous! It’s not like he’s  _royalty._ ”  
  
Regina stares pointedly at her.  
  
“Oh,” Emma says, realizing. “Damn it.”  
  
“Damn it,” Regina agrees smugly.  
  
“Well,” Emma says, “I’m not cutting any crusts off anything. Ever.”  
  
“Forgive me if I don’t faint in shock,” Regina says.  
  
“You, lady, are such a pain in the ass,” Emma accuses, but Regina thinks she can hear a laugh hiding under her words somewhere.  
  
“Whereas you’re such charming company,” Regina says. “Really.”  
  
  
+  
  
  
“Finally,” Cora says when Regina steps in the front door that night.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. Did you miss me?”  
  
Of course her mother picks up on the sarcasm. She’s inconveniently perceptive.  
  
“You seem different,” Cora says after a long scrutinizing look. “Happy.”  
  
“I’m a good actress,” Regina replies with a saccharine smile, and excuses herself for bed.  
  
She doesn’t escape that easily.  
  
“Regina,” her mother says, trailing after her down the hall. “I know you spent a decade treating that boy as your own. I know you must still feel for him. But he’s lost to you. He hates you. She’s poisoned his heart against you, and you have to let him go.” Regina stills. Her mother seems to like that. She comes up alongside her, her voice low and almost gentle. When she was younger, Regina could never quite resist believing the words spoken in that tone. “He’s not your true family. He’s always been hers. There is no magic stronger than blood.”  
  
Most would say  _love_. It doesn’t surprise her that her mother thinks otherwise.  
  
“I know,” Regina says calmly, and wills herself not to curl her fingers into fists. Wills herself not to reduce the whole house to ashes with her fury.  
  
Cora presses a hand to Regina’s face. Such motherly affection. “Do you?”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Regina says, and puts a hand on top of Cora’s. “You taught me well. I know what the most important thing in the world is.”  
  
“Power,” Cora surmises.  
  
“My real family,” Regina answers, and presses a cold kiss to her mother’s cheek. Cora looks satisfied at that.  
  
She sleeps in Henry’s room. Her mother has taken the master bedroom, it goes without saying. Regina doesn’t mind. She’d rather be surrounded by Henry’s things anyway. When she closes her eyes, there’s only darkness for a minute, and a feeling so big and awful that surely it could devour her from the inside out. Here she is, a grown woman, a mother herself, a destroyer of whole worlds, and still she’s trapped like an animal at her mother’s hands. What would Daniel think, to see her this way? He always yearned for her freedom almost as much as Regina did.  
  
 _Then love again._  
  
She allows her mind to drift from memories to fantasy. A farm with a big red barn, and endless green grass, and a stable full of horses. Lots of ducks and no chickens. She imagines walking outside in the early morning air with the sun on her face. Henry’s hand in hers, excited for the day to begin. Emma on his other side, maybe – no, not maybe, certainly – with her hair in a tangled mess of a ponytail and her eyes bright and amused. Maybe she’ll catch Regina’s eye when Henry’s distracted, and they’ll share one of those looks that parents certainly must share when they’re not going at it alone. Something unspoken and understood, simple and sweet and full of love.


	3. your place in the family of things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina and redemption, take two. It goes better this time. (Featuring trouble with the in-laws, old wishes coming true, Hook still being the worst, and finally finding something like home.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter here makes it very clear that the point of this story was entirely feelings-y, with exactly no concern about plot. :D So, um, here you go! I will also take this moment to refer you to [this beautiful, beautiful fanvideo by MorsAnglicus](http://dollsome-does-tumblr.tumblr.com/post/40166051574/eemersonm-swan-queen-ho-hey-i-belong-with), which basically sums up the essence of what I was striving for in this story in two minutes and eighteen seconds.

**3\. your place in the family of things**  
  
Charming continues to be insufferable. Regina is determined to suffer him in silence – considering the things she’s done, she supposes her punishment could be much worse – but he isn’t making it easy. One afternoon, while Emma is off searching for a sweater before they head out to the forest, he sets in with yet another round of “I don’t trust you” accusations.  
  
“Look, you fool,” Regina finally snaps. “If I wanted to reduce you to ashes, I’d have done it already. Do get it through your gallant skull: I will never hurt you, understand? I will never hurt any of you.”  
  
“And why is that?” Off her glare, he adds scornfully, “Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”  
  
“Henry loves you,” Regina says. The sick, writhing feeling that usually accompanies that knowledge is much quieter than it used to be. “I won’t betray his trust.”  
  
“And what about Emma?” Charming presses.  
  
“What about Emma?”  
  
“You think we haven’t noticed? She has magic. She has Henry. You’ve always hated her. It’d be awfully easy to get rid of her on one of these nice long magic lesson afternoons in the forest.”  
  
“Oh, like I got rid of Dr. Hopper?” Regina asks, and savors the sheepish expression the remark inspires on his stupidly handsome face. “If anyone or anything ever tries to harm Emma Swan,” she goes on, “it will have to deal with me first. Henry loves her more than anything in the world, and that’s reason enough to keep her safe.”  
  
Because the universe is cruel and unfair, Emma chooses this moment to come back into the room, wearing that ridiculously gigantic grey sweater she had on at the welcome back party at Granny’s. It’s obvious from her expression that she didn’t go conveniently deaf through Regina’s last statement.  
  
“Don’t take it personally,” Regina adds to Emma, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She feels the stupidest inclination to blush.  
  
“Um, nope,” Emma says awkwardly. “Wasn’t gonna.”  
  
Charming is staring at her like he has no idea what to make of her.  
  
Might as well finish the thing off properly.  
  
“If anyone or anything ever hurt Emma, it would break Henry’s heart,” Regina tells him, “and I will never let anything break Henry’s heart. You know that feeling, don’t you? You’ve got a family, after all.” Charming still doesn’t seem capable of developing a response more evolved than a stare. “I’m on your side now,” Regina finishes. “Like it or not.”  
  
“I don’t like it,” Charming says quickly.  
  
“Well, at least you’re honest about your feelings.” Regina gives him a parting smile, then nods to Emma. “Miss Swan. Shall we?”  
  
“Yep,” Emma says. “Don’t wait up, Dad.”  
  
Charming yells after them (trying to lighten the mood, Regina assumes), “You know girls like that are only after one thing, right??”  
  
Emma laughs, and even Regina has to bite her lip to keep from smiling.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“Henry doesn’t love me more than – more than anything in the world, all right?” Emma says later as they walk through the forest together, leaves crunching under their feet. “He needs both of us. Don’t sell yourself short.”  
  
“We’re here to hone your magic,” Regina answers brusquely. “Not for a good heart-to-heart.”  
  
Emma sighs. “Whatever.”  
  
Guilt stirs, inconveniently.  
  
“Thank you,” Regina murmurs.  
  
“I would protect you too, you know,” Emma says after a moment. “No matter what. I’ve got your back.”  
  
Regina tries to remember the last time someone promised her  _No matter what_. Unconditional devotion has seldom come her way.  
  
She wishes Emma didn’t remind her of Daniel so much. It makes no sense at all. It’s only that freedom seems to hang off Emma in much the same way, effortless and defiant and wonderful. It’s hard to stand so close to freedom like that and not want to breathe it in.  
  
  
+  
  
  
Dealing with Snow is much worse than dealing with Charming.  
  
The sight of her still sets Regina’s blood sick in her veins. She hates everything about the sight of Snow White, but especially her eyes. Those eyes have always seemed so peaceful, so loving and wise, even when she was nothing more than a child. When they first met, Regina thought it was fascinating, that a young girl could have such a look about her. That fascination wasted no time in turning to hatred after what Snow did to Daniel.  
  
But there’s no sense in dwelling anymore. It seems they’re doomed to stay in each other’s lives one way or another. Might as well accept it. Might as well stop yearning to watch her die.  
  
(If Henry knew. If Henry knew just what Regina feels every time she’s in Snow White’s presence, he would never speak to her, never even look at her again. And so she buries the feeling as deep as she can. She even wishes she could let go of it. She’s never wanted that before.)  
  
“David told me what you said to him,” Snow says during one of those excruciating moments when they’re briefly alone together. Regina wishes Snow would pay her the courtesy of ignoring her completely, but of course the girl’s not capable of that small mercy.  
  
“So he’s David now? Pity. I thought Charming suited him.”  
  
“Must you always cling to the past so hard?”  
  
Regina just stares at her.  
  
“Okay,” Snow admits, and smiles – a slight, weary smile. “Stupid question.”  
  
“I won’t allow the past to interfere with the present,” Regina says after taking a steadying breath. “That’s done.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Believe me,” Regina says darkly, “you have nothing to thank me for.”  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
Impossible as ever.  
  
“Well, don’t thank me,” Regina orders. “Nothing I’ve done has been for you.”  
  
“I know,” Snow admits.  
  
At least that’s something.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“Once upon a time,” Mary Margaret says, “I made a wish.”  
  
She and Emma are making pancakes. (Well. She’s mostly making the pancakes. Emma occasionally stirs things.) David and Henry are still asleep.  
  
Emma stops trying to stir, and watches her mother.  
  
“You were on the way, and your father and I were so happy. It seems like nothing can ever touch you, when you’re happy like that. Of course Regina’s threat loomed, but it was hard to believe in it, with so much love in the world. And so once, I wished. That she could remember what it was like to love. That I could give her something, anything that would wake up her heart. If she loved someone, really loved someone, then surely she couldn’t keep on causing so much pain. It seems impossible now, but I did love Regina for many years. She was a good liar, and the only mother I’d ever known, and – and I think she did care for me at first. She saved my life, the first time we met. Did I ever tell you that?”  
  
“No,” Emma says. It feels like a very insufficient answer, but she’s not capable of much more at the moment.  
  
“Well,” Mary Margaret says, and smiles. “You know now. It’s a good story.”  
  
“Why are you saying this?” Emma asks awkwardly. “Because, you know, you don’t have to convince me that there’s good somewhere deep down in Regina. I know. I get that. I mean, I get that it’s  _deep_ down, but still.”  
  
“I think I gave the world you, and you gave the world Henry. And that boy saved her soul. Some part of her will always love you for that, Emma.”  
  
“Um,” Emma says.  
  
“You three are a family,” Mary Margaret says, and squeezes her shoulder. “I just want you to know that. You were alone and sad for a very long time, and – and so was she. So cherish each other.”  
  
“I’m not cherishing Regina,” Emma says, and decides that the pang of sudden feeling she gets at the idea must be, like, crippling nausea.  
  
“Well, I didn’t say you had to be open about it,” Mary Margaret says and smirks.  
  
“Gross,” Emma declares, and goes back to stirring pancake batter.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“I must admit, I’m jealous,” Hook drawls, swaggering all over the drawing room. It appears Regina has finally done the seemingly impossible and found someone she hates more than Snow White. “You getting to spend so much time with the bewitching Emma Swan. Making magic.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Regina says. “She’s hardly my ideal choice in company.”  
  
“Still, you must admit,” Hook persists, taking a seat beside her. Regina grimaces. “She is a treasure.”  
  
“Is she?” Regina asks lightly.  
  
“I’ll strike you a deal. Once we’ve got this quaint little town bent to our will, and you’ve had it out with Miss Swan to your satisfaction, you leave what’s left to me. Hmm? It must be very hard indeed, to take all the fight out of a girl like that. I love a good challenge.”  
  
“You’re disgusting.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t plan to make it an unpleasant experience for her at all. Don’t you worry.”  
  
“Well, in that case, you’re an absolute gentleman.”  
  
Hook stares at her, a curiosity on his face that Regina doesn’t like. “Protective of the little wife, are we?”  
  
Regina doesn’t let him see her bristle under the words. “I doubt she needs much protecting. But please. Try to make her your concubine. I look forward to witnessing her response.”  
  
“Concubine is such an ugly word,” Hook says, feigning a wince. “I prefer ...” He pauses thoughtfully. “Hmm – love wench?”  
  
“Much better,” Regina scowls.  
  
“Jealous?” Hook asks, his eyes gleaming. “Does your mother know about this ... fascination of yours?”  
  
Regina is struck, all of a sudden, by the vision of her mother plunging her hand into Emma’s chest. Claiming her heart.  
  
But she can’t, Regina reminds herself. She can’t. Cora tried that, and she failed. Emma isn’t like Daniel. Emma is safe.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Regina says, putting on some of her old darkness, and smiles at Hook. “When it comes to Emma Swan, I’m more than willing to share.”  
  
“Deal,” Hook agrees in a murmur that some might find attractive.  
  
She looks forward to killing him. Slowly.  
  
“Regina?” comes her mother’s voice. “Do come help me with the apple pie. I don’t have your flair for the domestic arts. I never quite picked up the knack of baking. It’s hard to shake the idea that it’s more the servants’ domain.”  
  
She’s practically thankful for the escape. But before she can go, Hook catches her hand in the one he has left and kisses it.  
  
“I’ll remember our bargain, milady,” he says, dripping with false gallantry.  
  
“I don’t doubt it for a minute, Captain,” Regina answers, her smile sharp as broken glass, and leaves him.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“Why did we never spend more time together like this when you were younger?” Cora muses, watching as Regina carefully dices apples.  
  
 _Because you were far too busy disapproving of my every action and being cruel to my father and, oh yes, stealing hearts from everyone you could,_  Regina does not answer.  
  
Instead, she puts on a smile and says, “I don’t know. It’s lucky we were given a second chance.”  
  
Her mother smiles at her – a fond smile, as close to genuine as Cora gets. Maybe she’s even proud. At last, at long last, it makes Regina feel nothing at all.  
  
  
+  
  
  
Emma does Henry’s laundry. Eleven’s not so old.  
  
She’s checking all the pockets of Henry’s sweatshirts, which she absolutely would have remembered to do even if Regina hadn’t told her to. (Um. Probably.) Inside of one of them, there’s a picture, folded in half. She unfolds it.  
  
It’s a picture of Henry and Regina, out on the lawn of the mayor’s mansion. Henry is tiny – he can’t be more than five – and Regina is crouched down beside him, her arms around him. She’s not looking at the camera; her eyes are on Henry, and her mouth is open like she must have been saying something. They both look happy. Henry looks happy, and safe. He’s looking at Regina with the thoughtless trust that all kids should have in their parents. It makes Emma realize how much time she’s spent imagining Henry was miserable his entire life until the night he showed up at her door.  
  
“Thank God,” she mutters to herself, not even really sure why, as she looks at the picture.  
  
“She always really loved me,” Henry says, and Emma looks up to see him crossing the room. When he gets close enough, she puts an arm around him. “And for awhile, I was too young to understand the truth about her. I just thought she was my mom.”  
  
“She was your mom, kid.”  
  
“I know that now.” He pauses. “I think that’s why I took the picture with me. I didn’t want to totally forget, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Emma says, squeezing his shoulders.  
  
Henry looks down at the picture and smiles a little. “We took that with the camera timer, since there was never a third person around to help. It went off too soon.”  
  
Emma knows she should stop staring, but she’s not sure if she can. “I didn’t know she could look so ...”  
  
“Happy?”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma says softly.  
  
It’s quiet. Emma thinks of Regina, back in that cold house with those cold people. She hopes all of this will be over soon. Regina deserves some rest at last, and – and a farm, or something. (Not that Emma’s been thinking about it.)  
  
“She’s pretty, huh?” Henry adds, and when Emma tears her eyes away from the picture to look back at him, she catches just a flash of a cheeky grin before he bounds off to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  
  
“Oh, so now you want to brush your teeth!” Emma calls after him.  
  
“Yep!” he answers merrily.  
  
“Well – remember to floss!” Emma doesn’t, ever, but that’s beside the point.  
  
She looks back down at the crumpled picture again. She gets that time stood still for that twenty-eight years, but Regina looks younger, smiling like that. She looks at Henry like he’s her whole world, like she’d do anything for him and she could never ask for anything more.  
  
Emma sighs, not sure what else to do with the sudden, happy flutter in her chest.  
  
  
+  
  
  
Regina catches sight of it the next time she comes over for dinner (while Charming and Snow are out on date night, thank God): an old picture of herself and Henry in a cheap plastic frame. Beneath the photo, the frame boasts the word FAMILY in big cheerful letters.  
  
She reminds herself that evil queens quite simply do not go around weeping sentimentally all the time. Even if they are reformed.  
  
“I always wondered what happened to that picture,” Regina says instead.  
  
“Henry had it,” Emma replies. She knows just how much that means. Regina can tell.  
  
“Oh,” Regina says, determined not to betray her own dignity. She falls back on her favorite crutch: regal disdain. “Nice frame.”  
  
“I know it’s not exactly up to your standards, Madame Mayor,” Emma sasses. Regina rolls her eyes, but privately, she doesn’t mind the nickname. It’s certainly better than ‘Your Majesty.’ At least ‘Madame Mayor’ was something Regina chose. “But I don’t know, I saw the frame on sale—”  
  
“Clearance, no doubt.”  
  
“—and I thought it was kind of nice.”  
  
“It is,” Regina admits. She presses a fingertip to four year old Henry’s face. She doubts Emma is one to care about fingerprints.  
  
“You think?” Emma says, sounding almost hopeful. Or perhaps Regina’s imagining that.  
  
“Kind of,” Regina adds. She looks over at Emma and allows herself a slight smile to show she doesn’t mean it.  
  
Emma smiles back. She’s inconveniently hard to dislike when she smiles.  
  
“Henry,” Regina calls, in need of a distraction. “Would you be so kind as to dump the apple pie on the counter down the garbage disposal?”  
  
Emma stares at her. So does Henry; it’s enough to tear his attention from the video game he was happily playing at the kitchen table.  
  
“It’s laced with poison,” Regina explains. “The kind that turns its consumers into its baker’s mindless slaves. Slowly.”  
  
“Cool!” Henry says.  
  
“Should he really be handling that?” Emma asks, frowning. Regina can understand her concern. Henry and apple baked goods don’t have the best history.  
  
“He’s not an infant, Miss Swan,” Regina says.  
  
“Yeah,” Henry parrots, pleased. “I’m not an infant, Miss Swan.”  
  
“How about both of you shut up?” Emma suggests sweetly, ruffling Henry’s hair.  
  
Henry laughs – cackles a little, really (it does a mother proud) – and then grabs the pie and heads for the sink.  
  
“The fact that your mom is willing to poison her own grandkid: deeply disturbing,” Emma announces, quietly enough that Henry won’t hear.  
  
Regina sighs. “But hardly surprising.”  
  
Emma’s hand absently brushes over Regina’s arm, a gesture of comfort. Regina freezes, then immediately strives to seem as if she didn’t.  
  
“We’ve got to get you out of there,” Emma says. “Soon.”  
  
“I can take it,” Regina informs her crisply.  
  
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry about dessert anyway!” Henry calls from the kitchen over the sudden, merry roar of the garbage disposal. It’s a welcome interruption. “Emma got a pie from the store!”  
  
“A store-bought pie,” Regina repeats, making sure that her inflection makes perfectly clear just what she thinks of  _that._  
  
“It has Oreos in it!” Henry rattles on joyfully.  
  
“Dear God,” Regina says.  
  
“Hey,” Emma retorts. “It’s not my fault that you’re the culinary goddess of the family.”  
  
“Clearly magic’s not the only thing you need lessons in.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Emma says, and gives her a grin that does truly inexplicable things to Regina, all at once and entirely without warning— “Teach me.”  
  
Then she’s off in a flash of blonde curls. Regina suspects it must be a good sign, that Emma’s found the motivation to style her hair properly again. Regina used to harbor long, elaborate fantasies of yanking on those curls, hard. Strangling Emma with them – slowly, slowly, deliciously slowly – and savoring the sound of her last breath.  
  
Suddenly, she finds herself questioning the validity of those impulses. At the time, she’d thought them entirely homicidal.  
  
Now, the fact that most of those imaginings involved Emma wearing that awful white wifebeater threatens to take on a whole new implication.  
  
Well. There will be time to sort that out later.  
  
“You coming?” Emma asks, throwing the words and a look over her shoulder from where she stands with Henry at the sink. She smiles.  
  
It’s hardly a proper invitation.  
  
Regina accepts anyway.  
  
  
+  
  
  
After dinner, Emma asks Henry what they should do. Henry says he wants to read.  
  
“Um,” Emma says, and throws a look at Regina, “you mean the book?”  
  
There’s no way that’s not going to be awkward. And kind of mean.  
  
“Nah,” Henry says, and Emma lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “I just want a story.”  
  
Henry goes over to the bookshelf while Emma and Regina stand waiting. Emma tries not to stare at Regina, because whenever she does she finds herself thinking things like  _Who wears high heels inside?_  and  _That dress ... is a dress_. (It is, for the record. A deep red wraparound dress that’s definitely way too – well, way too  _something_  for dinner with the family. Emma guesses you can take the evil out of the Evil Queen, but not the wicked.)  
  
“Do you have a problem, Miss Swan?” Regina asks sweetly. For all Emma knows, she has psychic powers too. Awesome.  
  
“You’re wearing high heels inside,” Emma says, because that seems much more worthy of sharing than the dress part. “Who does that?”  
  
Regina rolls her eyes. Emma’s starting to want to keep a tally of all the times she gets her to do that. It always feels like a serious accomplishment.  
  
“Here we go,” Henry says, returning to them with the first Harry Potter book in his hands. He heads over to the bed, and Emma and Regina follow him. “I know neither of you has read these.” He finishes off the announcement with an admonitory little glare that’s equal parts adorable and, okay, kind of intimidating.  
  
“I  _have_  been a little too busy for recreational reading, Henry,” Regina points out, slipping out of her heels.  
  
“I saw a few of the movies,” Emma volunteers, after a moment’s distraction. (Not that she was  _distracted_  by Regina taking off her shoes, because why would she be? That would just be ... weird.)  
  
“Still,” Henry says firmly. “Now we have time. We’re reading all of them.”  
  
“All of them?” Emma has  _seen_  Harry Potter books before. She imagines the fifty thousand hours or so it will take to get that done.  
  
“Oh dear,” Regina mutters.  
  
“Get comfortable,” Henry orders. Emma sits down on his left side, while Regina takes the right. “We can take turns reading. I’ll go first. ‘Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much ...’”  
  
Emma sneaks a look at Regina over Henry’s head. She’s already looking at Emma, and the expression on her face is this mix of exasperation and love that Emma completely gets. Emma smiles slightly at her. Regina returns it. They both settle in to listen.  
  
  
+  
  
  
Three chapters in, they’ve all had a turn to read. Emma’s attempts at British accents made Henry laugh and Regina bust out the most long-suffering sigh in all of history. Emma expected a lot of unenthusiastic monotone from Regina, but she’s surprised: sure, Regina reading isn’t exactly a great big inflection party, but her voice is smooth and soothing, almost melodious. Henry drifts off to sleep as Regina is just beginning chapter four.  
  
His head droops onto Regina’s shoulder. Regina looks down at him with so much love and surprise that it makes Emma’s heart ache.  
  
 _This is right,_  she thinks, without really meaning to. She doesn’t take the time to examine the words. It’s enough just knowing they’re true.  
  
Regina kisses the top of Henry’s head, then stares down at the book again.  
  
“Don’t cheat,” Emma admonishes, quiet enough that it won’t wake Henry.  
  
“I want to know what the letters say,” Regina murmurs back, flipping a few pages forward.  
  
“I’m thinking they probably have something to do with the fact that he’s a wizard.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Seriously? You didn’t know  _that_? Man. You have been busy.”  
  
“Exacting eternal vengeance isn’t exactly a part-time job, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Emma says.  
  
Inevitably, that turns things a little melancholy.  
  
“I look forward,” Regina says nonchalantly to the bedspread, “to having a lot more spare time in the future.”  
  
“Good,” Emma says. Hastily, she adds, “’Cause we’re gonna need a lot more spare time if we’re going to have the full Potter experience.”  
  
“Which we are,” Regina sighs. “He is nothing if not determined.”  
  
“Gee. I wonder where he got that from.”  
  
Regina laughs quietly. “Both of us, I should think.”  
  
Emma smiles. “Yeah. I guess so.” She looks down at Henry. He’s breathing in and out, slow and even. “Tonight was nice,” she confesses, feeling stupidly brave.  
  
“Yes,” Regina agrees, meeting her eyes, sounding almost timid, “it was.”  
  
They stare at one another. Regina’s eyes are so full of honest feeling – hopeful, and almost sweet – that for a second, Emma can’t imagine her being anything but good.  
  
  
+  
  
  
When David and Mary Margaret come home, it’s to find Emma, Regina, and Henry asleep on the bed.  
  
“I get that they walked in on us, and we deserve some payback,” David mutters, “but this is still too disturbing.”  
  
“Aw,” Mary Margaret says meanwhile.  
  
“Really?” David demands. “‘Aw’?”  
  
“Aw,” Mary Margaret says firmly.  
  
David sighs. “How many chances are we going to give her?”  
  
“I get the feeling she’s not going to need any more. Besides.” Mary Margaret considers Regina. She looks more peaceful than Mary Margaret has ever seen her before – and after all, they’ve known each other a very long time. “She earned this one.”  
  
“When she asks for our daughter’s hand in marriage,” David says after a moment, “you’re the one who gets to have that conversation.”  
  
“Agreed,” Mary Margaret says wryly, and smiles.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] You do not have to walk on your knees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569834) by [klb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klb/pseuds/klb)




End file.
